


Fully and Truly Yours

by smallgaynerd



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, M/M, No Mary, POV John Watson, Post-His Last Vow, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 01:16:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1326304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallgaynerd/pseuds/smallgaynerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It certainly wasn’t romantic, at least, not in the traditional sense."</p><p>John and Sherlock marriage fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fully and Truly Yours

It certainly wasn’t romantic, at least, not in the traditional sense. It came as the result of a new insurance plan, which, in fact, might be one of the most unromantic things in the world. John had mentioned the premium plan for married couples, to which Sherlock replied, “we should probably get married, then.” 

“Yeah, I guess.” John smirked, thinking Sherlock was just making one of his typical off-color jokes.

“In a few weeks, then? I’ll set the appointment. I suppose a register office would be preferable to a church.”

John stared at Sherlock for a few moments, dumbfounded, before stuttering out a bemused, “Ok?” Had Sherlock just proposed to him? Had he just _accepted_ Sherlock’s proposal? They’d been officially “together” for almost a year, yet Sherlock had not brought up the subject of marriage even once until now. In fact, John distinctly remembered him calling it “a celebration of all that is false and specious in this morally-compromised world.” So he supposed it made sense that wedlock would only cross his mind for such a spectacularly practical reason: taxes. 

But that was just his way. John knew this when he first moved in with Sherlock, he knew it when he first kissed Sherlock—with passion yet decided tenderness—on the steps of 221B, and he knew it now, as he (apparently) agreed to enter into marriage with him. He understood that Sherlock simply had no awareness of nor care for traditional romantic conventions, but that, in his own strange manner, he still loved John. Once, for instance, when John had off-handedly mentioned that he couldn’t get a hold of Harry, Sherlock spent a week literally scouring the country looking for her—he even asked Mycroft for help. If that was not a sign of true love, John didn’t know what was. (He eventually found her in a rehab center in Wales. It only took five helicopters). 

And yet, two weeks later, Sherlock forgot about Valentine’s day. As in, he literally forgot that it was a holiday that existed.

“I’ve got us a dinner reservation tonight,” John had remarked.

“Can’t go out tonight,” his boyfriend replied, peering into his microscope. “Got to keep track of the bacterial growth on these tongues.”

“Well, as fun as that sounds… it’s February 14th.”

“Seems you’ve figured out how to work the calendar, then.”

Sherlock sometimes lost track of dates, sure, but surely he wasn’t this clueless? “Sherlock, it’s Valentine’s Day.”

Sherlock raised his head and looked John in the eyes with an expression of utter bewilderment. “Is that a real thing? I thought it was just a fabrication made to sell women’s movies and awful Hallmark cards.” 

They did not go out to dinner that night, but John learned two valuable lessons that night. The first, that cow’s tongues grow bacteria more quickly than pig’s, and the second, that he could not take for granted that Sherlock knew even the very basics of romance. Which is why he knew that this wedding was going to be… just a bit different from his first. 

*** ***

A few days later, John awoke and entered the kitchen to find Sherlock making tea himself, a somewhat rare occurrence in their household. He poured John a cup, and, with a kiss on the cheek, told him, “three weeks from today, at the office three blocks down the street. I’ve sorted it all out.”

Well, at least he was on top of it. This obviously was going to be a small ceremony, but John at least wanted it to be somewhat nice. “We’d better start the planning right away, then.”

“What planning? I just told you, I’ve already scheduled it.”

“Yes, I know, but… there are certain details that you need for a wedding.”

“Like what?” Sherlock questioned tepidly, already bored with this topic.

“Well, we need the clothes.”

“What,” Sherlock smiled, “you really want to wear another coat tail tuxedo?

John thought for a minute, and remembered that he actually was extremely uncomfortable for most of his wedding day (though some of that may have had to do with his latent desire for his best man). “You know what, you’re right, I don’t. Then, there’s the cake.”

“I don’t like cake.”

“Flowers.”

“We’ll pick up some roses on the way there.”

John’s inner romantic cringed. “Well, I guess invitations are out of the question, but you at least need to tell people.”

“I don’t want to invite anyone.”

“Not even your parents? Mrs Hudson?”

“Mrs Hudson cried enough when you told her we only needed one bedroom. And my parents didn’t even come to my funeral; why should they bother with this?” 

John rolled his eyes and took a sip of his tea. Sherlock was being especially difficult today. It made John question whether this was even worth it. But then, just as he was about to give up on the conversation completely, Sherlock shifted, at once becoming visibly attentive and concerned. “John, I see I’m disappointing you,” he said, his voice completely genuine. “You know that it is difficult for me to see these traditions as anything other than trivial. But, truthfully, there is only one person on this earth who I care about enough to invite to my wedding, and… I am marrying him.”

John could see the sincerity as Sherlock softened his eyes and bit his lower lip slightly. It wasn’t easy for him to speak so frankly, even to John. As he looked into the this man’s eyes— this absurd, crazy, idiotic man’s eyes— he felt all his hesitations melt away. “You know,” John said quietly. “I think all that stuff’s kind of trivial, too.” John caressed Sherlock’s cheek and kissed him softly. It didn’t really matter how the wedding went, he decided, as long as he was marrying Sherlock Holmes.

*** ***  
The next few weeks preceded as normal. Clients came and went, cases were solved, and no time was spent thinking about bridesmaid dress colors or serviette folding. John wound up telling Mrs Hudson, who, indeed, did cry quite a lot; Lestrade, who gave John a slap on the back and exclaimed, “finally!”, promising to bring Molly; and Mycroft, who plainly said, “I will not come.” 

Writing the vows came as something of a challenge for John, especially since he wasn’t sure if Sherlock would even bother with them. What could he possibly say to Sherlock that hadn’t already been demonstrated through their actions? They’d saved one another’s lives numerous times; they’d waited for each other through misunderstandings, a marriage, and a feigned pregnancy. It seemed to John impossible to find the right words to encapsulate this nearly six-year partnership/friendship/relationship. In the end, he left his vows short and sweet, sure that Sherlock would appreciate the brevity. 

The day slowly crept up on them. John had almost half-forgot about it until Sherlock reminded him, “we’ll leave tomorrow at one.” He appeared so calm and unaffected that John was incapable of perceiving his true emotions—was Sherlock as nervous as he was? That night in bed, as John rested his head on Sherlock’s chest and tried to fall asleep, he could feel a slight shakiness to his partner’s breathing. But he was Sherlock, after all, and John assured himself that everything would go smoothly tomorrow.

*** ***

John finished up buttoning his shirt before checking his watch. 12:52. Though he did enjoy the formality of a big wedding, he had to admit it was nice wearing everyday clothes rather than a multi-layered suit. Sherlock was still in their room getting dressed or something. He stayed in there until the cab pulled up to the street, when he emerged in his regular attire and a white dress shirt. The two hurried down the stairs before halting in front of the front door. John took a deep breath then, with an assured nod to Sherlock, turned the knob and exited outside. 

The cab ride passed without a word spoken, giving John a sense of both excitement and restlessness. After passing several blocks, they pulled up in front of the register office to find an unusual spectacle: a group of at least twenty had gathered in front of the main entrance. “Wonder what’s going on,” John mumbled, almost to himself, as he paid the cabbie. Sherlock only gave them a half-glance. As the cab doors opened, however, the crowd’s purpose became more evident, for the two were bombarded with the flashing of cameras and a mess of frantic chatter.

“Come along, John,” Sherlock said as he took John’s hand and maneuvered through the onlookers. He quickly passed through the large, wooden doors and shut them swiftly so as to avoid engaging with anyone. 

John took a breath and tried to gain his bearings. They stood in a main lobby with only a few indifferent people seated nearby. “What the hell was that!?” he demanded. But before Sherlock could offer any answers, a shrill voice bellowed from across the room. 

“You’re here! Finally!”

John turned to find a petite, young secretary scampering across to greet them. “Oh, everyone told you wouldn’t come, but here you are! Sherlock Holmes and John Watson—getting married! I knew it!”

“I—what?” John puzzled. “What did you know?”

“Oh, it’s all over the tabloids: ‘Famed Detective to Marry PA’. All my friends said it wasn’t true, you know, tabloids spread all sorts of nonsense, and Sherlock’s hardly the marrying type, but I just knew it. And here you are!”

“I’m sorry—PA?” John retorted. Sherlock smirked as the secretary lead them down a hall. “How did the tabloids find out, anyway? Doubt Mrs Hudson leaked to the press.”

“I might have mentioned it on my blog,” said Sherlock.

“What did you do that for?”

“I needed… something. Not important now. Minor details. Trifles.”

John gave Sherlock a quick look and nothing more. There was no point in trying to figure out what he was on about. 

The secretary stopped at a room at the end of the hall. “Well, here you are! The celebrant’s a bit late, I think, so you can just wait and socialize in here. Let me know if you need anything!”

John turned the golden door handle and held the door open for Sherlock before entering himself. It was a modest room, sized to fit no more than thirty, but lovely nonetheless. A wide window at the far end brought in the sunlight, and white lilacs adorned two end tables. At the head of the room stood a polished wood desk facing four rows of chairs. After taking a brief look around, John took a front-row seat. Sherlock continued inspecting, his eyes darting around as he sauntered up and down the aisles.

“Well, here we are,” John exclaimed, receiving no reply from Sherlock. He felt slightly awkward,  
sitting there as Sherlock went about doing deductions about the wallpaper or whatever. The silence was soon broken, however, as Molly, Lestrade, and Mrs Hudson filed in excitedly. John greeted the three select guests and called for Sherlock to do the same. He obliged, no doubt resenting the profuse positivity that they brought with them. As he went about shaking hands and making forced small talk, John thought for a moment that he could detect a slight tremor in his boyfriend’s hand. He must have been imagining things though—why would Sherlock be nervous?

“It’s about time!” Lestrade declared enthusiastically. “We’d set up a poll down at Scotland Yard. I had you two pegged for six months but it took quite a bit longer than that!” 

“Yeah, well, you know,” John replied. “These things take time.”

“No kidding! Say, who proposed to who? It was you, John, right? Can’t imagine Sherlock getting down on one knee and all.”

“It was pretty mutual, actually. No big proposal or anything.”

“Well,” Lestrade shrugged, “it’s different for everyone, I suppose.”

At this point, Sherlock told John that he’d be right back, and proceeded to exit out the door. John took no matter of this and continued conversing. It was only when the celebrant arrived that John really noticed his absence. 

“It’s been about fifteen minutes,” Molly observed. “Where do you think he’s gone off to?”

“Well I doubt he’s stood you up,” Mrs Hudson interjected.

John knew Sherlock wouldn’t do that, but he was still confused. Where had he gone? John set off to find him, first checking with the woman at the front desk.

“I think he went down that way.” She said, gesturing down another hall. John walked down that way, still finding no sign of Sherlock. Soon, he reached a dead end. He was starting to get impatient. _This is my wedding day, goddammit,_ he thought to himself. Near the end of the hall was a maintenance closet. It seemed a bit obvious, but John figured it was worth a try as he turned the knob and…

There he was, pacing frantically in the dimly light closet. John stood baffled; had he lost his mind? “What the hell, Sherlock!?”

“Sorry,” Sherlock stuttered, still pacing, “I just… need a minute.”

John just stood astounded for a moment, before at once his confusion turned to concern. Sherlock was… scared. The occurrence was so rare that he hadn’t even been able to recognize it. Yet there Sherlock was, silently freaking out in a closet. John still couldn’t understand why, though; he’d been completely ambivalent about the wedding up to this point. In one swift movement, John shut the door behind him and grabbed Sherlock by the arm, stopping the frenzied pacing. John stood to face him, placing his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders as he stared into his eyes.

“Hey,” John whispered tenderly, “what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong at all,” Sherlock retorted nonchalantly.

“Something is definitely wrong. Otherwise we wouldn’t be in a broom closet right now.”

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but then retreated. John worked to coax it out of him. “It’s okay,” he said, “you can tell me.” 

Sherlock abided, “this…this is a mistake.”

“What?” John stammered, “now you don’t want to do this?” 

“I mean…” Sherlock stared at the ground, unable to make eye contact. “I… I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve… you.”

John said nothing; he didn’t even know what to say. Sherlock continued, “it seems clear to me that this marriage—this whole relationship—is better for one of us than the other. That you are just…putting up with me. I don’t—”

“Sherlock, stop,” John interrupted. They stood in silence for a moment, before John composed himself. “I’m going to stop you there, because that is probably the stupidest thing you have ever said.” Looking at Sherlock’s soft eyes, he couldn’t help but smile. “If I were just ‘putting up’ with you, I would have left a long, long time ago.”

John broke into laughter, amused by the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. Sherlock joined, and the two giggled rampantly. 

“Are you sure?” Sherlock asked mid-giggle.

John replied with a kiss. “Quite,” he said. “Now come on, let’s get married.”

*** ***

“Have you prepared your own vows?” Asked the celebrate, an older gentleman with thick glasses. 

“Yes.” Said John. The two had returned without a word about where they had been, proceeding with a ceremony as normal.

“Then you may proceed.” 

John went first, withdrawing a single notecard from his pocket. He cleared his throat and began: “Sherlock, I love you. You’re my best friend, and you’re the one I want to spend my life with. You have given me so much, more than you know, more than one person should be able to give another. You are my partner in work, but today you become my partner in life as well. I pledge my love, faith, and devotion to you, as proclaim myself to be fully and truly yours.” John smiled as he finished, knowing these words to be completely accurate. 

Sherlock then fished out his own card. He took several shaky breaths; John knew this was not easy for him. John squeezed Sherlock’s hand, and with a final, deep breath, he began: “John, there was a time when I thought I would never be able to see you again. I told you I had something to say to you. Something that I’d always meant to say, but never had. And then I didn’t say it. I made a joke, partly because I couldn’t muster the courage to say it, and partly because I wanted to make you happy one last time. But I can say it now. John, I love you. I’ve loved you from the start, and I can’t imagine how I could ever stop loving you. 

“Before I met you, I thought I was incapable of loving or being loved. I called myself a sociopath; I detached myself from everything but my work. I was drifting away. And then you came into my life, and you brought me back. The friendship and admiration and trust and warmth that you offered me was unprecedented, and, for a great while, unearned. You showed me how to love, and how to care, and I do not know how I could ever repay you for that. John, you are the best, and bravest, and wisest man I have ever known. I have said that before, but it deserves repeating, because it is the truth that I hold above all else. 

“I promise to be true and loyal and faithful to you. To do all I can to protect you and bring you happiness. You are my partner in every sense of the word, and—if such a thing exists—you are my soulmate as well.” 

This was not the first time Sherlock had brought tears to John’s eyes, but it was the first that they were out of pure and unmitigated joy. There was not a hint of regret or uncertainty in John’s heart. “You’re mine, too,” he whispered back.

“We will know exchange the rings.”

John had anticipating Sherlock’s forgetting the rings, and had brought along a pair of traditional gold bands, heirlooms. But as he drew them out of his pocket, he looked up to find Sherlock doing the same. “We’ll be using these,” Sherlock stated as he handed one to John. This ring was not particularly fancy, either; it was a simple platinum band. But on the inside, there was an engraving. John squinted to read it. On one side, it read “J.W. & S.H.” and on the other, “Forever.” John wasn’t the only romantic, after all. With a few words from the celebrate, they slipped the rings on each other’s fingers. It felt tangible, now. This was real. 

“By the power vested in me I now pronounce you legally wed. You may now kiss each other.”

John kissed Sherlock softly yet passionately, his hand caressing his now husband’s cheek. Husband. That sounded nice. Their friends applauded and stood to congratulate them. But Sherlock abruptly paused the festivities.

"Hang on, I've got a voicemail."

Everyone looked at each other in disbelief. "Seriously?" Molly exclaimed.

That put something of a damper on things, John thought. Sherlock's phone was already pressed to his ear. He listened intently before turning to John and saying, "Mycroft called. Emergency. We've got to be in Brussels by tomorrow." 

"Sherlock, we just got married. Can't we get a day off?" John replied. 

"There's a nationwide terrorist threat. Lives are at stake, John!" 

Well, he could never argue with that. Promptly abandoning their guests, Sherlock and John exited the building and pushed past the observers, who were now trying to catch a glimpse of the rings. The newlyweds entered a taxi and went straight to the airport, not going to their honeymoon, but to a crime scene. As they drove off to near certain peril, Sherlock took John's hand and intertwined their fingers.

It certainly wasn't romantic. But John liked it like this. He was excited, invigorated to take on another challenge with his husband, his partner, his soulmate. Because this was just their way.


End file.
